Facing the Victims and Fighting the Evil
Editor's Note: During the New Abortion Caravan, many of our team members took the time to write reflections on their experiences. This is the testimony of one of our summer interns after spending a day driving behind one of our Reproductive "Choice" Campaign trucks.
by Lauren Kyfiuk
I was driving through Langley, BC with the New Abortion Caravan. Devorah and I were driving behind one of our trucks, which are covered in signs that show the truth about abortion. The picture on the back of the truck was of a 24-week aborted girl. Having seen this picture many times before, I was not surprised when it did not evoke the same knee-jerk reaction of nausea that it had the first time I saw it.
However, as time passed I developed a knot in my stomach. I continued to gaze up at of this baby girl, whose own blood painted her face. Her feet were swollen and her beautiful but fragile body had been cracked out of shape. Her body lay limp and lifeless while the hand of her killer grasped her head, tilting it toward the camera. The knot in my stomach turned into a brick on my chest, and a pang in my heart. I allowed myself to cry. Her face, behind all the blood and bruises, was beautiful. Her hands, had you zoomed in close-enough, were perfect. They looked soft.
Thoughts of who she was and the life she could have been destined for flooded my imagination. Images of joyful birthdays she will never celebrate, peers and loved ones who survived her whom she will never meet, hugs she will never receive, the wedding day that will never be, and the family that will never exist. Although I was unable to meet this child in person, I felt almost as if I had come to know her intimately as a person that day.
After five long and painful hours staring up at her broken and bloody body, my heart broke even more deeply. I came to a greater realization of the magnitude of this genocide that is occurring in our own backyards and was further convicted of the extreme importance of showing the pictures. I must re-visit them time and time again in an attempt to grasp even a fraction of a sliver of the horror of this tragedy. Though her body may rot away, this picture never will.
I also realized that this feeling of compassion is of little worth if it does not move us to action. If compassion was the flower, action is the fruit. If we “abort” this process halfway through, all we are left with is a dry and wilted conscience.
Say you see a child on the street, thin and shivering in the cold. If someone were to say to them, “Have a great day, stay warm and eat well!” What good does that do them if we do not reach out in love to help them?
I challenge you today to slow down and face the truth once again. I challenge you to stop and look in the face of this child for even just thirty seconds. Allow yourself to connect with who this child is, listen to what she has to say. What is she asking you to do for her and her peers?
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